Victor Marie Hugo (18021885). Notre Dame de Paris.
The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction. 1917.
THE ARCHDEACON and the bell-ringer found, as we have said before, but little favour with the people, great or small, in the purlieus of the Cathedral. If Claude and Quasimodo went abroad, as occasionally happened, and they were seen in companythe servant following his mastertraversing the chilly, narrow, and gloomy streets in the vicinity of Notre Dame, many an abusive word, many a mocking laugh or opprobrious gibe would harass them on their passage unless Claude Frollothough this was rarewalked with head erect and haughty bearing, offering a stern and well-nigh imperial front to the startled gaze of his assailants.
Now some ill-conditioned monkey would risk his skin and bones for the ineffable pleasure of sticking a pin in Quasimodos hump, or some pretty wench, with more freedom and impudence than was seemly, would brush the priests black robe, thrusting her face into his, while she sang the naughty song beginning:
Anon, a group of squalid old women, crouching in the shade on the steps of a porch, would abuse the Archdeacon and the bell-ringer roundly as they passed, or hurl after them with curses the flattering remark: There goes one whose soul is like the other ones body! Or, another time, it would be a band of scholars playing at marbles or hopscotch who would rise in a body and salute them in classical manner, with some Latin greeting such as Eia! Eia! Claudius cum claudo!3